


cigarettes and open air

by Sapphylicious



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphylicious/pseuds/Sapphylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: first meetings, Jaejoong as a rocker dropout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cigarettes and open air

They meet for the first time in the back alley of a venue. 

It's a cold November night and the air is damp with mist, leftover from the rain that had fallen in a constant downpour all day. Water drips from somewhere in the darkness and a wire fence rattles in the wind, or maybe from a scurrying animal. Yoochun digs into his pocket for the crumpled, almost-empty pack of cigarettes that is supposed to last throughout the weekend. It's only Friday. But he would be kidding himself if he thought he was going to get through the night without one. His ears are still ringing from the music – and he uses that term _loosely_ – that continues to pound within the building. Screaming guitars and an equally abrasive voice aren't his idea of a good time.

Yoochun lets the flame from his lighter linger near his cupped hand for a moment, appreciating the small amount of warmth before it's gone. Smoke swirls from his lips into the air. The girl waiting for him inside is going to wrinkle her pretty little nose and scold him for it later, as if the inside of the club isn't thick with drugs, alcohol, and sweat. He told her he just needed a bit of fresh air, but now he thinks he'll stay outside and skip the rest of the concert. Coming here was a waste, but Yoochun suspected that would be true the moment she suggested it. He's been half-heartedly flirting with her all semester, and as the nights grow longer, the weather grows colder, and he finds it harder and harder to care about his new school, his life in general, he thought maybe the extra companionship would do him some good.

The fact that he prefers to be alone in the cold right now tells him just how misguided that idea was.

"Hell," Yoochun mutters disparagingly to himself, then jumps as the side door opens with a creak and a bang against the brick wall. There's a brief explosion of sound and warm, choked air from inside, accompanied by a lone young man who throws his arms open dramatically and inhales deep as the door whooshes closed behind him.

"I can breathe again," he declares, his tone flat in spite of the exaggerated gestures, face turned up to the dark sky that has started to drizzle. 

"You too?" Yoochun asks curiously. His heart rate slows after the scare only to stutter uneasily when the stranger's eyes turn on him. They're lined with kohl and uninhibited, made all the more striking by his platinum-blond hair. He's dressed for a night on the town, looking like _somebody_ in a world of nobodies, only his smile doesn't match the rest of him. Yoochun expects a brilliant flash of teeth or a smirk, diamond-cut edges and arrogance, but what he gets is a sheepish little grin and a laugh that sounds percussive against the walls around them.

"Terrible in there, isn't it? I can't believe how many people are into that trash – then again, maybe they all need to be high to actually enjoy it." He rolls those amazing, depthless eyes of his. "That would explain a lot. Hey, can I bum a smoke?"

Yoochun fishes the pack out again and their fingers brush, cold and fleeting. He holds his lighter to the end of the cigarette resting between the other's lips, watching the flame, the burnt-orange tip, as he's being watched in turn. A puff of smoke, a smile, and Yoochun feels tongue-tied, mouth-dry. _Can I have your name, your number, your attention for another second, a minute, an hour?_

"Thanks for enabling my bad habit," the man says jokingly, mouth quirked. He tilts his head, and white-blond wisps of hair are beginning to stick delicately to his cheek and neck. Lamplight catches on the glint of metal at his ears, around his throat. "I'm Jaejoong. You come here often?"

"Yoochun," he responds in kind, finding his voice at last. He raises his own almost-forgotten cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, reorienting himself with the taste of tobacco and the familiar burn blistering down to his lungs. "And no, this is the first time."

"Tch, you picked a bad night." Jaejoong's expression becomes pinched as he gives the door a withering glance. Then he gravitates back to Yoochun and everything smoothes out, his dark eyes glittering beneath lowered lids. "Tell you what, you free next Saturday? There's a show at nine. The band's pretty good – at least it's a hell of a step up from this crap."

Almost anything would be a step up from the cacophony in there, but Yoochun considers. "What are they called?"

"Never mind that, just show up and give them a listen, hm?" He leans in, warm and smoky and secretive. Magic words: "I'll see you there."

"See you," Yoochun breathes into the space that stretches between them.

#

Yoochun shows up at the club on Saturday, alone this time. He goes straight inside instead of loitering out front and waiting, looking hopeful or forlorn (but he does keep an eye out, stilling at any glimpse of bleached hair). There are faces he recognizes, people he's seen on campus. He says hi to a few, mingles on autopilot (which is easy; he's been living on autopilot for months now). Next thing he knows, he's right by the stage, front and center. The lights go down, the crowd starts calling. It's packed and nervous with energy, more than a little claustrophobic, but he can handle that. He can handle a lot, depending on the music.

" _Hey, everybody!_ " says the guy in front of the microphone stand, tapping his foot like he can barely contain himself. He's the only figure illuminated onstage – the rest are dark shapes assembling in the shadows. The light catches the red in his spiked-up hair and his smile is generous with the teeth, but all of that is secondary to the distinct quality of his voice. Interesting. Attention-grabbing. He hums a few bars while the crowd tries to decide whether they want to be louder or quieter.

A girl standing next to Yoochun bounces in place and screams out, "Junsu!" Her call is echoed, spreading to the back of the room.

"Thanks for coming tonight, we have a _real_ sweet show for you guys," Junsu continues, his speech slowing down and then speeding up again. "We're Dong Bang Shin Ki! Are you ready?"

There's an answering roar like a wave from the audience, intensified by a rapid drum roll and Junsu grins. Then he closes his eyes, tips his head back, and sings. Soars. No squeaking or creaking, just smooth, rolling tones, all the way through.

Junsu isn't pulling all the weight, either. "A hell of a step up" from last week's band is an understatement – it's more like a difference of several flights of stairs. The grin that stretches across Yoochun's face feels great, as if he hasn't seen the sun in weeks. He isn't at all surprised to see Jaejoong up there, the stage lights making a halo of his platinum locks and his tongue peeking out between his lips. His hands are busy with a guitar, but he scans the crowd in smoldering sweeps of dark-lined eyes until his gaze and Yoochun's intersect. A flash of white teeth and Jaejoong adds his voice to Junsu's, layering them in fantastic harmony.

#

"You came after all," Jaejoong greets in a back room after the performance, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes are bright and his voice sounds breathless, high from the music and stage as if he's still standing under the hot lights. "So what did you think?"

"On a scale of one to five, one being listenable and five being kick-ass..." Yoochun pretends to think, pretends not to notice Jaejoong's lips and the movement of his throat as he swallows from a bottle of water. "...Maybe a six."

Jaejoong lets out a whoop and throws his arms up, sloshing some water that makes his bandmate duck.

"You're supposed to drink that, not shower me with it," the tall youth remarks, pushing a hand through his long hair to get it out of his face. He looks familiar, like someone Yoochun has seen before on campus, but never formally met. Based on the shouts from the audience, his name is Changmin. He glances at Yoochun, but doesn't say anything – he's too busy being mock-pummeled by a wired Jaejoong.

"Excuse me, coming through," says another band member, hefting equipment in his arms. He pauses to survey the scene and turns to Jaejoong with a bland expression. "Don't break our bassist or we'll need to find a new one."

Jaejoong sputters for a moment and Changmin doesn't even try to conceal his amusement. The man's poker face falls to smile briefly at them, and then he shifts his curious gaze to Yoochun. "And who's this?"

Before he can answer for himself, Jaejoong slings an arm around his shoulders. "This is Yoochun," he introduces like they're long-time friends, and not practical strangers who met for the first time one cold, lonely evening last week, commiserating over shitty music and sharing a smoke. "Yoochun, this is Yunho, our drummer. And the brat is Changmin. Junsu is around here somewhere."

As if summoned, the singer bursts into the room. Like Jaejoong, he doesn't appear at all exhausted, grinning widely and holding a cell phone to his ear. "Hey, hey, guys! My brother is coming to visit next week! We don't have any plans, right?"

"Nope, next week's clear," Yunho replies. "Say hi to Junho for me."

"Yunho says hi," Junsu says giddily into the phone while bouncing on his heels.

There's a loud smack followed by Jaejoong's louder cry into Yoochun's ear, jostling them both. The platinum-haired man lets go to gesture emphatically at an all too innocent Changmin. "Did you see that? What part of him is breakable? What about me?"

Yunho ignores him in favor of inclining his head politely to Yoochun. "It's nice to meet you – sorry things are a bit crazy here."

"Nah, it's cool." Yoochun ducks his head and laughs a little. There's a nervous fluttering in his stomach, but it's the pleasant kind. "You guys were awesome out there, by the way. Jaejoong told me you'd be good, but that was an understatement." 

When Jaejoong opens his mouth to defend himself, Changmin instantly covers it – only to yank his hand back with a yelp, grimacing and wiping his palm on his pant leg. Jaejoong sticks his tongue out.

Yunho is wearing his blank, ignoring-the-chaos expression again. "To be fair, some things can't be explained."

Yoochun cracks up, and he's not the only one. Changmin dissolves into snickers, eyes squinting, and even Jaejoong grins as he gives Yunho a good, playful shake. At that point, Junsu ends his call and joins the four of them with bewildered excitement.

"What's going on? What did I miss?"

#

Monday morning sees Yoochun taking his good, sweet time getting to class. He hits the snooze button on his alarm twice before finally rolling out of bed – literally, and he has the bruised shoulder to prove it. A shower wakes him up for real, but he doesn't hurry while getting dressed, pulling a sweater over his head and giving his hair a single dubious look before covering it with a hat. Halfway through his trek across campus, he stops at the coffee bar. He skims through a crisp copy of the school paper while waiting for his drink, flipping through pages about tuition increases (which is ridiculous), construction on an old building (located at the ass-end of campus), and the soccer team's triumphant last game of the season (he vaguely recalls turning down an invitation to that).

Yoochun stops and stares at the article topping the next page. The header reads: "Local Band Builds Following." Above that is a black and white picture of Dong Bang Shin Ki from the weekend show. Jaejoong seems to smile knowingly at the camera, face tilted at a perfect angle and his eyes narrowed in monochrome mystery.

The sound of his name being called drags his attention away from the newspaper print. Yoochun folds the paper and shoves it in his bag before going to claim his coffee. He's in the middle of ripping open a sugar packet when there's a tap on his shoulder that makes him turn around and look...up.

"I thought you looked familiar," says Changmin, hair neatly groomed and a pair of glasses sitting on his face. He has a backpack slung over his shoulder, one hand clutching the strap while the other is tucked into a coat pocket. "I've seen you around the music department."

"I've seen you too," Yoochun returns, and he mentally winces at how lame that sounds. Eight am. is not an ideal time for riveting conversation. He dumps sugar into his beverage and hopes that will help.

"Music major?" Changmin guesses.

"Uh-huh. You?"

"Philosophy and Computer Science."

"Bullshit with a backup plan," Yoochun translates approvingly, and Changmin's grin glints at him. "Smart-thinking."

"Do I look like someone who half-asses things? Because I don't think I look anything like Jaejoong."

"Ouch," Yoochun says, smiling into his cup. He takes a careful sip of the scalding liquid, blessedly caffeinated. "Does he go here too?"

Changmin arches a brow, and that small effect alone makes Yoochun realize what a dumb question that is. Jaejoong isn't the blending, easily missed type. "You'd probably notice him if he did."

"Touché, sir." He glances at his watch for the first time all morning and nearly chokes. " _Shit._ I have to run. Literally have to run. See you around, bye!'"

"Wait!" Changmin calls, hollers after him, and turns a few heads because boy, does his voice carry. Yoochun wheels around, thankful for the lid on his drink that keeps it from spilling everywhere. "We're going out for drinks this Friday – the band, that is, and Junsu's brother, too. Consider yourself invited!"

"Yeah? Cool. I mean, thanks, I'd love to go— Damnit, my ass is so late. Later!"

#

Ten o'clock, Friday night, and there's a strange little feeling beginning to settle deep within him. Yoochun isn't sure what to call it, but it's like a bruise, sore yet trifling. He stares at his glass in contemplation, then tosses the remaining liquid back. Before the empty glass even hits the countertop, Jaejoong is asking the bartender for another.

 _No, I'm good_ , Yoochun wants to tell him, but then Junsu, on his other side, laughs loudly at something his brother says. They're twins, and one can tell, not by appearances but in other, more significant ways. Similar gestures, little habits, things that speak of kinship. The affection when they look and smile at one another. The protectiveness and the pride.

Metal clinks on the bar when Yoochun lets his hand drop and he glances down at his wrist, at the jewelry encircling it. A lump forms in his throat as he gives the bruised feeling a name, a place: home like a hole in his heart.

Changmin makes a comment that prompts another round of laughter – Yunho's face is buried in his arm on the counter, shoulders shaking, and Junsu nearly tips backwards off his stool. Yoochun's smile is automatic, and he grabs one of Junsu's windmilling arms to steady him as Junho holds onto the other.

He meets Junho's eyes, and for some reason his mouth quirks and he ends up commenting, "Little brothers can be a handful, huh?"

Instantly, he's peppered from all sides with variants of, "Brothers? Do you have a brother?"

"Sure do. His name is Yoohwan, he's seventeen years old." Yoochun draws his left arm nearer to his body, the flat charm of the bracelet bumping against the heel of his palm. His right hand goes for his drink. Five minutes later, he excuses himself to step outside for a smoke.

The air is cold, dark, and quiet beyond the warmth and light of the bar. Yoochun can see his breath puff and dissipate thinly before him. His fingers are trembling a tiny bit as he taps a cigarette out of a new pack, and he's only just stuck it between his lips when an orange flame sparks into existence nearby.

Shadows flicker across Jaejoong's features, rendering them softer as he extends the light and Yoochun cants his head. He sucks in a lungful of comforting smoke. "Thanks," he murmurs, exhaling, and the lighter clicks shut.

"Is everything okay?" Jaejoong asks, rhetorically from the sound of it.

"Fine."

"Really?"

"Nope." Yoochun laughs, warm and loose with alcohol and tobacco.

Jaejoong lets out an aggravated sigh. He reaches over to pluck the cigarette out of Yoochun's hand and steals a drag. "So what's up?"

"A little... homesick." Yeah, that's the word. Sick for home, sick and lonely, sick with these poisons in his system as he reclaims his smoke. Nicotine bitter-sweet inside his mouth, he says, "I'll be fine."

"'Fine', hmm?" Jaejoong brushes his thumb against the corner of Yoochun's eye, fingers sliding briefly into his hair. He pulls away disappointingly soon, but then he brings his hand up and licks the salty moisture from the pad of his thumb.

"It's nothing, I'm just a huge crybaby," Yoochun explains, voice a bit thick – either from the actual tears or the insane urge to get Jaejoong to do that again.

"Oh. Well." Jaejoong pulls – yanks, really – Yoochun forward until he stumbles against him. Holds him there. 

"Um," Yoochun says with his nose in Jaejoong's collar, close enough to smell skin and scent. His cigarette drops from surprised fingers – probably a good thing, because he doesn't really want to burn a hole into Jaejoong's leather coat.

"You can have my shoulder," Jaejoong clarifies. "You know, to cry on."

Yoochun ends up laughing on it instead. He muffles the sound, though, and Jaejoong seems unaware as he rubs his hand over Yoochun's quivering shoulders. He might have felt bad for the slight deception, but it feels too good to just hang on limply and blame the alcohol-tinged haze.

"Better?" Jaejoong asks quietly next to his ear, arm loosely circling him.

Yoochun nods, eyes prickling, and he gets Jaejoong's shoulder a little damp after all.

#

"You know what?"

The pencil makes a cracking sound against the table when Jaejoong throws it, bouncing off the surface and whizzing through the air. Yoochun raises his head from the doodles he's been making in the margins of his notebook.

"What?"

Jaejoong crumples up the sheet of paper in front of him and tosses it – the ball misses the trash can, adding to the scattered collection of similar pages that litter the floor.

"This sucks, it's useless, let's go."

"What?" Yoochun repeats, staring as Jaejoong gets up and pulls on his coat. "Go where?" he amends, because it's three am. on a weekday and he has homework to finish. Homework which thus far consists of a few games of tic-tac-toe (best two out of three, Jaejoong's win), a game of hangman (Yoochun's win, Jaejoong refused to play again), and some stick figures skydiving out of a plane.

"I don't know, anywhere." Jaejoong throws Yoochun's coat at him. "I need inspiration. Or something. Come on, _let's go_."

And that's how Yoochun finds himself behind the wheel on the outskirts of town in the dead of night. They're leaving the lights and buildings behind, hyped up on caffeine and just a little bit of recklessness. Jaejoong puts his feet up on the dashboard and half-hums, half-sings the melody that's been plaguing him for weeks. Yoochun helped him with the composition, but the lyrics haven't come easy. Jaejoong is full of words, of pictures and ideas, and he wants to share everything all at once. Asking him to slow down is like scaling a mountain to the very top – possible, but hard-earned.

There isn't much to see of the countryside with only the stars and a sliver of moon as light, and Jaejoong soon gets chatty while flipping through Yoochun's CD collection. They talk about the most inane things, ranging from their favorite kind of pie to the best and worst things to say during sex.

"Anything in French," Jaejoong proposes for the 'best' category, and Jaejoong trying to speak French is hilarious. So hilarious, it's fortunate that no one else is on the road with them. "Are you trying to kill me?" he demands once the car gets back in the proper lane.

"I think that one could be in either category, depending on the context," Yoochun replies, snickering. This time when the car swerves, it's because Jaejoong is shaking his arm.

"You know what we should do?" Jaejoong begins after he's settled back down, more or less, drumming a rhythm on his jean-clad thigh. "We should watch the sun rise."

Yoochun glances at the glowing digits of the clock and makes a disbelieving noise. "That won't be for another three hours!"

"I could drive for a while."

"Not enough gas."

"We could stop and wait."

_For three hours, in December, doing what, exactly?_

Jaejoong has his face turned to the window, gazing at the dark, shadowy landscape outside. All Yoochun can see is the curve of his jaw and the shell of his ear peeking out from his hair, dyed a darker color now. He's less intense without the shocking platinum, but no less beautiful. Yoochun pulls off the road and parks on the shoulder.

"It's going to get hella freezing in here," he states, hand on the ignition key. Jaejoong shifts in his peripheral vision. "...But there should be a blanket in the trunk."

The other man sits up straighter, teeth gleaming in the darkness. "I was going to suggest body heat, but that'll do. Pop the trunk, I'll get it."

They end up using whatever means available, both of them huddled in the backseat under the musty blanket, leeching warmth. Yoochun rests his cheek on Jaejoong's shoulder, beginning to crash after his sugar rush.

"Don't fall asleep," Jaejoong says in a voice that's losing the same battle, and one after another they nod off.

They miss the sight of the sun rising over the hills in the east.

When Yoochun wakes up, the light is hitting him full in the face and he's kissed by cold air. The side of him that's curled into Jaejoong is faring a bit better, and he buries his face in the body he's leaning against. He's stiff and sore and hungry, half-heartedly cursing Jaejoong's name into his chest.

Jaejoong's waking is a nosier affair, accompanied by stretching limbs and a guttural voice declaring, "Son of a bitch, everything hurts." He winces and shifts in place.

Yoochun makes a whining protest as he's jostled, eyes opening reluctantly. When they focus, they fixate. Jaejoong looks tired and sounds cranky, but his features are gentle in the light, which catches on the subtle red of his hair and creates a fiery array. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with sleep. Yoochun reaches up to touch the corner of Jaejoong's mouth, feeling cold skin with a hint of scratchiness, chapped lips, and warm breath caressing his chilled fingertips. All the while Jaejoong gazes at him from beneath lowered lashes.

"Good morning," Yoochun says huskily, chest tight. Jaejoong shivers, covers Yoochun's hand with his own, and tilts his head just so.

This kiss is warmer than the one to which Yoochun woke up.

#

"Come in!" Yoochun yells over his shoulder when there's a knock at the door, pausing in his struggle with the window latch. The stupid thing is always jamming, and it only seems to work properly if certain planets are aligned on nights with a full moon. He doesn't hear the door open, the quiet sound drowned out by the steady noise of the shower running further back in the apartment, but he does hear Junsu's voice carol out a greeting.

"Hello! I'm sorry I didn't call ahead, but I need to talk— _Augh_." His pleasant tone goes scratchy and he pinches his expression in distaste at the acrid smell of hair dye that permeates the room. Jaejoong has gone back to black this time; a quick decision made once the red had started to fade into an unflattering orange.

"Sorry about that," Yoochun grunts, putting his weight into the battle with the window. "There we go," he sighs as it finally opens with a protesting creak, letting in the frosty winter air. Yoochun's breath makes little clouds that swirl with the snow flurries.

Junsu joins him by the window where the atmosphere is colder, but less offensive to his nose. "All of his hair is going to fall out someday," he grumbles, not needing to be told who is in the shower. He pushes a hand through his own short locks, slightly damp from the snow outside.

"Perish the thought," Yoochun remarks with dramatic flair, but one thing is certain: no more dye jobs at his place. The stench is too horrid, to say nothing of the mess – cleaning up after the red had been especially morbid, it looked like a very bloody murder had been committed in his bathroom. He grabs the trailing end of Junsu's scarf and wraps it around his hand, tugging lightly. "So what brings you to my humble, smelly abode?"

Junsu smiles, but its brightness is dimmer than usual. "Oh... I..." Suddenly reluctant, he tucks his chin and stares down at the old carpet.

Yoochun pouts; he has a very effective pout, and it's being wasted on Junsu who refuses to look him in the eye. He tugs again on the scarf, flapping its length for extra measure – and annoyance. "Hey, if this is about my song, you can tell me it sucks and I'll just cry myself to sleep every night. It's cool because we're friends." 

"What? No!" Junsu looks panicked for a moment, then tries a weak grin. He's so transparent it hurts, but sometimes he's frustratingly vague. "I love the song. I can't wait to sing it."

"Your words say one thing, but your tone says that your puppy died."

"No, no, I just..." He glances over his shoulder. There's nothing to look at over there except for paint peeling off the wall, but the sound of running water continues.

"Ah," Yoochun says in understanding. "Big secret or a surprise?"

Junsu's expression isn't merely conflicted, it's tortured. "It's not really a secret, so I guess it's a surprise. The worst surprise ever."

"You're killing me, Junsu. Spill." Yoochun watches with curious fascination as Junsu visibly steels himself.

"I'm thinking— I've been offered a recording contract."

Yoochun's eyebrows climb. The news itself isn't shocking – Junsu could do it, and has always wanted to do it – but it's so...soon. Like waking up one day and realizing you're an adult, on your own and needing to make your own life. He reaches out to take Junsu's hand and swings their connected arms. "That's great, you moron."

"But it's... It's just me." His voice, normally so sweet and lively, sounds small on that last word.

"Of course it's just you." Yoochun doesn't elaborate, doesn't explain what all of them have already known to some extent: that Junsu was going to go solo somehow, eventually, no matter what. It isn't that the others keep him down, but that he's simply more willing to go up. They just thought there would be more time before... But time is the enemy. "Is it a good deal? You should hire a lawyer, you know."

"I know that! I— I asked Yunho to look at it. He said it seemed okay but I should get a professional opinion just in case. I'm sorry. Ow!" Junsu yelps when Yoochun smacks him over the head.

"Don't be so miserable about it! Seriously, is this an ego thing? I don't think everyone will roll over and die without you. Have you told Changmin yet? No, you haven't, since I'm the one pulling your head out of your ass."

Junsu sputters, then pulls himself up. "Yoochun, you jerk, I'm trying to think of the band!"

"I have a newsflash for you," Jaejoong's voice, uncommonly scathing, comes from behind them. He's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his bare chest, a pair of Yoochun's jeans riding low on his hips. His wet hair is a glossy black, dripping onto the towel draped over his shoulders. "We can think for ourselves."

Jaejoong's appearance has an immediate effect: Junsu deflates. "I'm sorry," he says with feeling, and this time Yoochun doesn't want to hit him. He turns around and closes the window instead while Jaejoong steps further into the room, pulling Junsu into a rough hug.

"From the sound of it, you'd be an idiot not to take this chance," he reprimands more gently, and Junsu's fingers clutch at the towel, only slightly stained with smudges of black dye, covering Jaejoong's broad shoulders.

"I know." Junsu's answer is muffled and tiny.

"So you better go for it."

"I will."

"Don't forget us when you're rich and famous though, or I'll spread nasty rumors about your sordid past. The skeletons in your closet will be all over people's blogs. I'm warning you now."

Finally, Junsu laughs, eyes crinkling in merriment. "Are you kidding? I couldn't forget you losers if I tried."

"Good," Jaejoong affirms, both arms wrapped tight around the other as he sways them back and forth. "Because you are _so_ stuck with us."

"Cramping your style," Yoochun adds, and Jaejoong grabs a handful of his shirt, reeling him in to join the huddle.

"You guys," Junsu says, half-exasperated and half-delighted.

#

"Guess I'll be singing alone," Jaejoong muses, reclining on the bed with a cigarette dangling between his fingers. He still hasn't put a shirt on. His hair, now dry, is like ink on the white pillow. Black suits him; the color doesn't render him plain at all, enhancing the glow of his skin and softness of his features. He brings the hand with the cigarette to his lips, briefly closing his eyes in a picture of decadence.

"Dong Bang Shin Ki..." Yoochun begins, but doesn't end. Jaejoong is looking at him wordlessly, and he seems to give the tiniest of shrugs. He stretches his arm over to the table and puts the cigarette out. The thin trail of smoke disappears, leaving only the ashen scent in the air.

"Everybody sings alone sometimes." He lounges there like he's talking to himself, but his fingers twine themselves with Yoochun's.

"Not you," Yoochun insists, bumping Jaejoong's knuckles, smoothing over his palm. "Not ever."

#

Spring emerges from winter, slowly at first, shedding frost and dripping melted ice. Fresh rain drenches the month of March and the air grows warmer, enveloping the town as the pace quickens until it seems to erupt in a violent burst of sunnier, longer days. Things are coming to life. Things are breaking apart.

"Don't say it like you need my permission!" Jaejoong's pitched shout is heard clearly through the door of Yunho's and Junsu's shared apartment, making Yoochun stop short on the other side. This doesn't seem like a good time to return Junsu's CD.

"I'm not asking for that," Yunho says quietly, more controlled and audibly restrained. "I only wanted you to know."

"Well, thanks," Jaejoong scoffs, sarcastic. There's a muffled noise before he speaks again, and his voice is all over frustrated edges. "What am I supposed to say, Yunho?"

"I don't know." A pause, long enough to hold one's breath, and then the damning blow: "I'm sorry."

Yoochun takes a hurried step back when the door swings open. Jaejoong's stormy expression is lightning-startled at the near-crash; quickly present, then gone. He doesn't say a word when he brushes by, but the air left in his wake is electric.

A dull thump sounds from inside, and Yunho's tightly-clenched fist quivers on the surface of a table. "Why is he like that?" he asks no one in particular, a stupid question when he already knows the answer.

Yoochun slips in as unobtrusively as possible – by now it's too late to feign invisibility – and he sets the borrowed CD down next to the mail. There's an opened letter addressed to Yunho, and the first line confirms what Yoochun suspects. _'We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted...'_ "Congratulations," he says simply, and Yunho acknowledges the word with a weary sigh.

"Thank you. I didn't mean— Would you—?"

"He knows it isn't pity." Yoochun shakes his head, and Yunho falls silent, understanding.

#

Yoochun pounds heavily on the door. On and on and... One of the neighbors bellows at him to stop that racket.

"I'm not home!" Jaejoong yells from inside.

Yoochun tries the doorknob, finds it unlocked and rolls his eyes before pushing it open. Jaejoong's back is turned, but he whirls around with a glare. He doesn't look like he's been crying, but Jaejoong never cries, not even when he wants to ("Men cry in their hearts, you know," he once said matter-of-factly to a teary Yoochun, arm around him).

Jaejoong gives him a sulky look that Yoochun ignores, digging into his pocket. He pulls out his car keys and leans against the door frame, offering a rakish grin. "Let's get the hell out of here. What do you say?"

#

They're on the road in the middle of nowhere, with no destination, and the sun is beginning to sink at their backs. The sky is flushed golden and dusky, full to bursting above them. Jaejoong sprawls in the passenger seat, hair ruffled in the wind that rushes through the open window, and he's singing. The noise swallows up most of his voice, but from the corner of his eye Yoochun can see his lips move, shaped lovingly around words: _cigarettes and open air, hand in hand, and I said stay..._

Yoochun's fingers tighten around the wheel, then relax. Cruise control and empty, endless road, the taste of tobacco heavy on his tongue, and Jaejoong's voice reaches like a low siren call to his ears.

_So stay with me._


End file.
